To the Fairest
by Esmara
Summary: In a kingdom far, far away, Snow White inherits a precious gift and a tremendous responsibility. Her stepmother inherits a power she doesn't know about. All it takes to put both to the test is a wish.
1. Chapter 1

_Should I be working on Smog of Sei-An? Yes. Is that going to stop me from starting another project wholecloth? Absolutely not. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a kingdom that was surrounded by a great wood. Within the wood there was said to be a number of portals and doors, and through them the Fae would slip into the human world._

 _The Fair Folk and humans lived side by side in relative peace; travelers would leave a coin or food or fresh flowers at the start of their journey through the wood as payment for safe travels, and sometimes the Fae would appear in the village as wanderers, and sold and traded their own treasures at the market. The two peoples lived in such a way for generations, the peace maintained so long as the village was healthy and the royal family welcoming to any who entered their doors. After all, one could never know when a stranger was Fair; and it was rude to turn a stranger out either way._

 _There was only one other rule that most followed, and were taught as children; you had to be very careful when making a wish. Though the two kingdoms respected each others' rules, they still had their own, and if a human were to make a wish to the Goblin King-_

An angry ruffling of feathers and flapping wings cut her off, and Snow White dropped the book from her lap to the ground. She looked to the miscreant in annoyance, and was met with large eyes staring back at her from the windowsill.

"It's not very polite to interrupt, you know," she gently chided, and the owl cooed in response. She sighed and lifted the book back up, placing the bookmark between the pages as she closed it. Snow set the book down beside her bed and walked to the window, where the owl stood patiently. She reached forward to brush the back of her finger against its beak, and it trilled while nuzzling into her touch. Snow smiled; though she liked reading, it was a very pretty owl, and she found she couldn't stay mad at it.

"Thank you for joined me," she said gently, her finger moving to the side of the bird's face. The owl leaned to the side, almost like a cat, its eyes closing in contentment. "Today's the day," she said, quieter, and the owl opened its eyes. She nodded. "I'm going to see if I can join in." Another coo, quieter.

She knew it was an ordinary owl, but it was a responsive owl, and she liked being able to at least _pretend_ she was having a conversation.

There was a triumphant sound of horns; both Snow White and the owl turned to face the door as they played.

"It _is_ my birthday," she said softly, more to the owl than herself. She looked at the bird. "It can't hurt to try, can it?" Another coo, deep and curious, and she smiled. "Do you think I should do it?" The owl ruffled its feathers, and she smiled. Snow White nodded and straightened up.

"Alright, I'm going now," she said, "I'm going to the party." She gripped her skirt in her shaking hands. "I'm going down there. Now."

The bird looked at her, almost expectantly, and she nodded again. Snow White turned, hesitated, and walked through her bedroom door. It shut between her and the owl with a loud and heavy _thud._

* * *

Brighton wasn't always a nervous man; once upon a time, he'd been quite confident and a proud confidant to the throne. That was before the queen took it.

He knew what today was; it was the princess's 18th birthday, the day she came of age. He'd heard the chatter around the castle; almost everyone had the same worry, one they dared not speak to the queen's face.

He stood beside Queen Clementia as she called her move; he tried to organize his thoughts. Beside him, the Baron watched the game in amusement. Even he had a crease in his brow, however, and Brighton knew the date was on his mind as well. Of course, he wasn't going to bring it up, not when the queen was in _such_ a good mood.

It was only six o'clock, they still had time, right?

"Brighton." He was yanked out of his thoughts by the queen's voice, and he looked at her with wide eyes for a moment. "Would you please tell Snow White that she can stop hiding behind the pillar, since she's not very good at it?"

The room froze. Everyone stopped and looked at the pillar in question; after a moment of unbearable stillness, Snow White stepped out from behind it. The queen patted her knee, and the princess approached slowly, hands clasped, and knelt beside Clementia.

"Snow White," the queen said in a gentle voice that made Brighton's gut wrench in anxiety, "what are you doing out of your room?"

"I thought I could watch the party, your majesty," Snow answered, and her voice would have broken the king's heart. Brighton suspected she knew that, from the look of quiet, almost polite shame on her face. "Since it is my 18th birthday."

The queen looked ready to respond, but every guest drew in a collective breath. She sat up; so too did Snow White, who looked quite perplexed.

"What's all this about?" The queen asked, looking quite annoyed. "Is everyone afraid of birthdays?"

"It's not that, your majesty," Brighton said, stepping forward even as he imagined the shadows would swallow him whole. "There is… a tradition, on a royal child's 18th birthday, that we haven't attended to. I believe everyone would be less tense if it were taken of sooner rather than later."

"Well, what is it? Do we cut off a lock of hair? A finger?" Clementia smiled and Brighton wished he hadn't spoken. "Don't keep me guessing, Brighton, what do we do with our little," she looked to the princess as her voice turned sour, "snooping princess?"

"We must present her," he said, gathering his thoughts, "to the Fair Kingdom."


	2. Chapter 2

There was a pause. For a heavy and silent second, the queen did not react. She didn't even blink.

Then she laughed, and Snow released the breath she'd held. She was entertained, she sounded almost _delighted,_ and the relief around Snow White was palpable.

"What on Earth does that mean?" The queen asked, still laughing, and Snow White realized the laugh had been a false alarm. There was a reason she did not speak with her stepmother often; she wanted to love the woman like a mother, but it was like trying to love a storm, or perhaps a lion. She was never certain if she was wholly safe.

"Well," Brighton stammered, "it is… an old fairy-story, your majesty, but an important one to the people. The way it works is we open the front doors and have Snow White stand right in front of the throne." The queen frowned, and Brighton spoke with hurry. "You announce her name – the line never changes – and we wait five seconds, then we close the doors and go about our business. It's a show of politeness to the… Fair Folk."

"How quaint," the queen said, a little bored. It was common knowledge she did not believe, but she seemed to tolerate the kingdom's superstition anyway. She looked to Snow White. "If we do this presentation, will you go back to your bedroom? You suit it much better than the ballroom." She smiled and gave a small chuckle, as if she'd told an absolutely delightful joke.

"If it's tradition," Snow White said, nodding slowly, "then yes, I will." It was embarrassing that the thought excited her; she'd barely heard of the ceremony before now, but there were people, and she understood at least a little _why_ they needed to. It was for the Fair Folk; a royal courtesy, like many she'd heard of as a child when her father told her stories.

"Stand up, then, let's get this over with. I don't want to get grief over not dealing with a quirk from a fairytale." The queen rose and gestured to the door. "Open them!"

The guards opened the doors, and cold air spilled into the room. The entryway was empty, but for a small collection of birds on the fountain; Snow White smiled upon realizing that she saw her owl among them.

"Give me the line, Brighton," the queen said impatiently. Brighton cleared his throat.

"To the people of the forest, I present," he started, "and here you say their title and name. On this day, they come of age, and shall be part of our two kingdoms forevermore."

"How droll," the queen groaned. "To the people of the forest, I present the daughter of the king, Snow White. On this day she comes of age, and shall be part of blah blah blah." Snow White noted the gentry members looking at the queen in shock, but did not speak.

Something had overtaken her. The birds looked at her in interest, and she looked at them; she felt, for a moment, an overwhelming urge to run forward, to invite them in. She felt like they _needed_ to be inside, that she needed to know their names.

Brighton cleared his throat, and it startled her enough that the birds became just birds to her again.

Clementia waved her hand again. "Taken care of. Close them." She turned to Snow White. "I think that's enough excitement for one day, don't you? Back to your room."

"Yes, your majesty," Snow White said, and disappeared from the ballroom as the rest of the revelers looked at each other in silence.

Snow White sat on her bed with a small sigh. "I tried," she said to nobody in particular, seeing as how the owl had left. She sat in quiet for a moment, before closing her eyes and imagining the open doors. They had been so… inviting, almost _beckoning,_ in the few seconds she'd looked at them. It was puzzling, and it bothered her more than the fact that she'd been shooed back upstairs.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Snow called, and the door opened. She smiled immediately at whom she saw.

"Happy birthday, Snow White," a familiar voice spoke. Snow was up and by Margret's side in a moment; the baker had brought a bundle wrapped in worn fabric. "I hope you didn't think we'd forgotten."

"Of course not," Snow smiled at Margret and pulled her into a hug. The baker was closer to a mother to her than the Queen, and she felt safer when she heard Margret's voice, even when she was being scolded. "Thank you so much, Margret."

"Don't just thank me," Margret smiled, "We're all waiting for you in the kitchen with a cake. We couldn't do much when almost everything was spent on catering the last party, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no, that sounds wonderful!" It really did – even if it was small, the thought of _any_ celebration was exciting. "I'll come right down."

"Not just yet, Snow," Margret's hands were on hers, "there's something I need to give you, first. A couple things, actually. Why don't you sit down."

Snow frowned a little, but nodded and sat on the edge of her bed. Margret sat next to her and placed the bundle in her hands. "The smaller one first." Snow White didn't need to see it to know what it was; she could feel the shape of the dagger as she unwrapped it. It had been her father's, and he had left it to her.

"Margret, I-" Snow White started, but Margret shook her head.

"Now the other one." Snow White hesitated a moment, then unwrapped the second bundle. Her brow quirked as she held up the gift in her hands; a thick, heavy, and aged book, bound in leather so old she could barely make out the title.

 _The Labyrinth._

"Your father was supposed to tell you this story when you came of age," Margret said softly, "but everyone in the palace knows it, all except the queen. It's time you learned it too, Snow White."


End file.
